Loves In Threes

Loves In Threes

You love.
You’re loved.
But then it’s lost.
And so you love again,
With someone else.

And at a certain time,
I see the birds wing
Restless through the trees.
Drunk with love,
They fly sometimes,
In groups of threes,
Two, with one in common.

And in a cabaret,
Concealed in secret booths,
I see men and women,
Drunk sometimes
With something else than love
And rarely grouped in threes,
Unless in thought alone,
Or social imageries.

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
A three that others love,
Not in season only,
Rather day by day,
And never drunk,
Unless its with devotion.

Me, myself, and I,
Now there’s a three
That’s common with all lovers,
Except perhaps with birds,
For they’re too low,
Or is it wise,
I can’t remember which?

(written circa 1966)


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